


Helmet Books

by TurtleTotem



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff, M/M, disabled charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 07:35:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3348947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've Got Mail AU! First appeared on tumblr <a href="http://turtletotem.tumblr.com/post/97740156481/prompts-you-say-cherik-bookshop-meeting-fluff">here</a> and <a href="http://turtletotem.tumblr.com/post/101391383116/please-tell-me-ur-gonna-continue-that-amazing">here</a>. </p><p>Charles owns a cute little independent bookstore, inherited from his beloved father. Erik, of course, is the owner of the big soulless corporate bookstore opening up down the block. They also each have a very dear email penpal they've never met...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_I’m so glad I have you to talk to about all this,_ Charles typed, prepared to minimize his latest email to EML152 at the first sign of a customer. _My sister’s never loved the store in her bones the way I do. She can’t appreciate the way it feels to wonder if each storytime will be the last, to imagine strangers clearing out the shelves and repainting the walls of what is essentially my childhood home. Since you’re in a family business as well, I feel I can depend on you to understand. And — I add with a mean, shallow chuckle — to join me in insulting the character of a man who tried to befriend me with his right hand while putting me out of business with his left. THE NERVE!_

"He’s back," Raven muttered, turning away from the new banner she was hanging to catch Charles’s eye.

Charles minimized the e-mail window and looked up; yes, there he was. Erik Lehnsherr of Helmet Books, walking into his homey little independent bookshop, with its bright colors and rich history, a place he in no way belonged, he with his cold gray eyes and the cold gray soul behind them.

He had his little twins with him again, just like when they’d first met. When he pretended to be just another customer, someone with weekend custody of his kids and possibly — he’d made Charles hope that he possibly — had an eye for blue-eyed bookshop owners. Charles took a deep breath and mustered a warm and cheerful welcome for the children, only turning frosty when they had scampered off to see the pop-up books.

"Look, Charles—"

"My friends call me Charles. You may call me Mr. Xavier."

Erik looked irritated, but underneath — underneath, if Charles didn’t know any better, he would have thought there was something else, some kind of true human emotion. “Mr. Xavier, then. I just… I want you to know that none of this is personal. I have nothing against you or your store. It’s business, that’s all.”

"What does that even mean?" Charles said, trying to suppress his rising anger. "People say that, but all it means is that it isn’t personal to _you._ But it’s personal to me, and I don’t see why it shouldn’t be. Whatever else anything is, it surely ought to begin by being personal!”

Erik took a step back, saying nothing in reply, and that trace of emotion — some kind of pain, confusion, something — somehow it was even worse than the cold shark eyes Charles had seen before.

"Raven," Charles called, "I’m going on break."

He took deep breaths in the employee lounge until his heart rate slowed a bit, then pulled out his tablet and re-opened his email to EML125.

_And listen,_ he typed, throat still tight and hands shaking, _I didn’t know if I even wanted to bring up the elephant in the room in this email, but I hope to God you had a good reason for not coming to meet me last night like we’d planned. That other store owner I’ve been talking about saw me sitting alone and swooped in for the kill. We said such terrible things to each other… It was quite a shock, expecting to finally meet a dear friend and having to deal with him instead._

He rubbed the burgeoning headache in his temples and refused to let the tears come. _If you’ve decided it’s better for us not to meet after all, I understand. I’ll try not to take it… personally._

He pressed Send.

When he came back to the register, Erik was just walking out the door, the twins tugging his sleeves and chattering about their new books. He glanced back through the glass in the door, meeting Charles’s gaze, and his mouth twitched in a half-smile — something wistful, almost painful — before the kids tugged him down the sidewalk and out of sight.


	2. Chapter 2

Three days after he closed the door and turned out the lights in his bookshop for the very last time, Charles woke with his fever and cough considerably worse than they had been the night before. All he wanted in the world was to sleep, and maybe drink, and try to forget that his life was in shambles. The very last person he wanted to see was Erik Lehnsherr of Helmet Books.

So of course that was exactly who turned up at his door.

Turned up at his door with chicken soup and aspirin, because he’d heard from Raven that Charles was sick. Eeled his way into the apartment over all Charles’s hoarse, feeble protests, took away the whiskey bottle, and before Charles knew what was happening, had him tucked into bed with a bowl of soup, a just-released book by a favorite author, and was sitting at the foot of the bed, reminding him to keep eating while they traded stories of formative books from their childhoods.

It was funny, after that, how quickly they became friends. It often felt like Charles had known Erik for ages. Which wasn’t to say they got along all the time, far from it – but somehow an argument with Erik made him feel _alive,_ instead of frustrated and frayed like an argument with Raven. They could debate the virtues and failings of _Pride & Prejudice_ until three in the morning, and Charles would come out of it feeling like he’d had something better than sleep. They got coffee together, took Erik’s twins to the fair, even went out on Erik’s boat (a ridiculous indulgence that Charles, of course, had to tease him mercilessly about owning).

"Can you swim?" Erik asked in some concern that day. It was the first day he’d actually seen Charles need his cane.

"On days like this, I can swim better than walk," Charles snorted, rubbing his thigh where the damaged nerves stung and tingled. "My physical therapist is very proud. It’s been almost exactly a year since I needed the wheelchair."

"Happy anniversary, then," Erik said, and toasted Charles’s legs with cheerful threats to throw him overboard.

They didn’t talk much about their respective bookstores. The loss of the shop still hurt too badly. Only one, after a few drinks too many, did Charles mention it.

"I miss the smell of it," he said, staring into the depths of his glass. "New books. Floor polish. Roses in the vase by the register. Those were the smells that meant _home._ And I’ll never smell it again, not the same way.”

"Not the same, maybe," Erik said, laying a hand on his shoulder, comforting in its weight. "But you will find a new home. It won’t be the same but it’ll be just as good. I promise, someday you will. I’ll help you."

He wasn’t sure, the next morning, if Erik even remembered that conversation. But whether it was to keep his promise or not, Erik was his staunchest support while Charles considered and applied for various other livelihoods – including the one that stuck, which was teaching English at a private high school that was willing to accept his Master’s in Literature in place of a teaching degree. The first day Charles came home from school beaming and chattering non-stop about his wonderful (challenging!) students, Erik watched him with such a soft, happy expression that Charles actually reached to cup his cheek before remembering, awkwardly, that they were friends – and only friends. His hand fell awkwardly back to his side, and conversation resumed.

After that Charles told Erik about his e-mail friend, EML152. Erik thought the whole idea of an entirely electronic relationship was a bit amusing, and teased him frequently about EML152 turning out to be straight, or a woman, or eighty-three years old. Charles’s indignant defense of EML, how connected they were, how important they were to each other, only seemed to amuse him more.

"What could the initials stand for, I wonder?" he would say, tapping his chin ponderingly. "Evil Monster from Laboratory. Engaged in Money Laundering. Edible Mango Lubricant—"

"You are not as funny as you think you are."

"—ElectroMagnetic Lothario—"

"Will you shut up?" By then Charles was laughing too hard to be at all intimidating.

"And the numbers, one fifty-two… the number of years he’s serving for… Eighteen Murders by Longbow?"

"Or maybe it’s just his address!"

"His address? You don’t give him credit for being very creative, do you?”

"Will you just shut up and turn on the movie?"

*

"What kind of relationship is this, anyway?" Erik said one day. "With Mr. Email. You’re not dating the guy, but you don’t really want to date anyone else either. You’ve been penpaling for over a year and you’ve never even met. You deserve better than that. Tell him it’s time to fish or cut bait."

"Maybe I will," Charles said haughtily, "and you’ll lose your chance forever."

He hadn’t really meant to say that. It was always something of a battle not to flirt with Erik. As a rule Charles flirted with everyone, what Raven described as “a harmless overflow of charming insincerity.” Somehow he didn’t want to be insincere with Erik. The closest they’d ever come to having that conversation was Erik mentioning both his ex-wife and an ex-boyfriend, and Charles perking up rather noticeably at the implication.

"I suppose I might, at that," Erik said now, smiling to make it a joke – but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

*

_I think we should try again to meet,_ Charles wrote that night, and forced himself not to add 'if you want' or 'What do you think?' Erik was right, he deserved to know if this was going to go anywhere or not. “Fish or cut bait, Xavier,” he murmured to himself. “Fish or cut bait.”

*

They decided on chess in the park, Saturday morning. EML152 would wear a red hat. Charles would wear a blue jacket and, based on the last few days, would be walking with a cane.

"Best of luck, Charles," Erik said, the night before the meeting. "I really hope it works out for you." The gray eyes Charles had once thought cold were trying to hold that emotionless façade now. Charles knew him too well to buy it – but was afraid to speculate, even in his own head, what the look in those eyes really meant.

"Charles," Erik said, just before Charles went out the door of his apartment, where they’d been watching a movie.

Charles swallowed inexplicable nerves as he turned back around. “Yes?”

Erik looked more lost and uncertain than Charles had ever seen him. “I just… want you to know… If this guy, tomorrow. If it all falls apart. It’ll be his fault, not yours. You could never be anything less than an amazing friend.”

"Oh, I know," Charles said with a valiant attempt at his usual cheekiness.

The ghost of a laugh softened Erik’s face, and for a moment – just a moment – Charles thought he was going to step toward him. And what would he do then?

What did Charles want him to do then?

_Tell me not to go,_ Charles thought suddenly, wildly. _Tell me I don’t need him. I have you. Tell me I have you._

But Erik didn’t do any of that. He just nodded and smiled, and let Charles leave.

*

Charles walked into the park the next morning, buttoning his blue jacket up to his throat; it was cooler out than he had expected. Or maybe there was another reason he kept shivering. He leaned harder on the cane than he usually did, determined not to let nervousness, of all things, knock him down.

They would get along, of course they would get along. They’d always gotten along. Always understood each other. Maybe they would never be anything but friends – but friends were important and amazing and good. Or maybe, maybe they would be something else, too…

He thought of Erik, smiling and letting him leave, and had to stop and breathe when his throat threatened to tighten up and choke him.

He rounded a curve in the path, and was suddenly in clear sight of the chess tables.

One was empty. The next held two old men, one very grey and the other bald. From the third, a younger man rose… Erik. Erik rose, in a red driver’s cap, and stared at Charles as if waiting for a blade to fall.

It was Erik. The whole time, it was _Erik?_ Connections started forming in Charles’s brain. The “family businesses” they both ran. Erik showing up when Charles was supposed to meet EML. Erik’s fearful expression the night before. And a hundred smaller things. Charles swayed on his feet, clinging to the cane.

Erik was at his side immediately, hesitating before he touched Charles’s arm to keep him upright. They stared at each other without speaking.

"It stands for Erik Magnus Lehnsherr," Erik said at last. "EML. One fifty-two is my address. I kept expecting you to figure it out."

"You’re an _idiot.”_

"Yes."

"I wanted it to be you." Charles felt his voice break, one hand clutching Erik’s wrist as if to keep him from escaping. "I wanted it to be you _so badly.”_

The silent beseeching in Erik’s eyes shifted to bright hope, and slowly, shy and awkward as Charles had never seen him, he leaned forward and pressed their lips together.

Charles returned the kiss with interest, winding his arms around Erik’s neck. For one startling moment, he could have sworn he smelled new books, floor polish, cut roses – the familiar scents of his bookshop.

He wasn’t at his bookshop. But he was, he realized, finally home.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Unexpected Encounters (Helmet Books Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4549674) by [prefertheconsultingdetective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prefertheconsultingdetective/pseuds/prefertheconsultingdetective)




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